I know life is not fair, but injustice rocks me to the core. I have to remind myself almost daily that this world does not have the last word when the scales of justice are knocked out of balance and are left uncorrected. It’s not just a matter of principle. Real people are slighted and left waiting for answers and movement from those scales. Here’s a story about one such incident and the lesson I learned in my waiting.

Rams’ Robey-Coleman tangles with Saints’ receiver Lewis prior to arrival of the ball.

I confess. I’m in a bit of a funk since Sunday. And, yes, it’s about the Saints and watching Super Bowl dreams being ripped from their hands. Our hands. I’ve been a fan literally as long as I can remember. An early and vivid childhood memory is attending a game in Tulane Stadium, where the franchise played from 1967-1974, and having a beer spilled on me by an over-zealous fan. Welcome to the club, eh?

I’ve stuck with them through their many ups and downs. The quixotic Archie years, the bag-wearing “Aints” days, the seasons consisting of a stellar defensive squad coupled with an entire offensive playbook called Morton Anderson (kicker), and the amazing Super bowl year. I can handle their losses and wins with a Who dat? and the eternal promise of next year. The rub from last Sunday is different. I’m troubled by the blatantly raw deal handed down from judges who should be blind to the direction the scales of justice need to swing to be righted, not blind to the acts that knock them out of bounds balance. I like fairness.

Thoreau says “justice is sweet and musical; but injustice is harsh and discordant.” Our souls shout foul for far more important things than a blown interference call. We hear the cry of the homeless, the orphan, the oppressed, and the aborted. In our own lives we clamor for justice or mercy – whichever brings relief first – over a broken dream, unimaginable diagnosis, irreplaceable loss, or unending pain. Mingled with the sounds of our cries, we hear the voices of critics saying you get what you deserve; karma, baby! Or the well-intentioned voices trying to sooth with God’s got your back and hang in there. But the thing I find most frustrating about injustice is the silence. The resounding quiet coming from the one who could set things right.

Throughout our journey with Maggie, I wrote often of my need for understanding and desire for her pain to be balanced with great gain and solace. I’m still listening for an explanation of all she lost and suffered. The silence, the waiting for justice is hard. But on many more than one occasion, God has given me what I need, not what I asked. Hope. A promise wrapped in 2 Corinthians 4:17: For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. An eternal weight to balance the here-and-now squeaking scales.

Wind chimes

One word would have tipped the balance back in place Sunday afternoon and sent the Saints, most probably, to their second Super Bowl appearance. But the silence reminds us of greater injustices to address. And speaking of reminders, our friends gave us a set of windchimes to hang after Maggie’s death. They are tinkling softly now outside my office window. They only make music when the weight dangling from the clapper is brushed or stricken by wind-force; when balance is stolen. In this sense Thoreau is wrong. The sweetest songs arise not from the stillness of justice but in the soul’s response to being disturbed. In the silence, as we wait for mercy, when life is unfair, sing.